


Someone Who Cares

by Sombraline



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Really it's mostly just the Comfort part, Tony Stark Gets a Hug, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-19 07:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29870940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sombraline/pseuds/Sombraline
Summary: “Sir, you are not doing yourself any good. Your pulse is too high. I would recommend you stop now and breathe.”Few humans know this, either, but Tony is not as cool and composed as he seems.“Yeah? Tell someone who cares, J'.”So Jarvis, after a long moment of consideration and attentive calculations which would have put Deep Thought to shame, does exactly as his father asks.He tells someone who cares.
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 188





	Someone Who Cares

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect too much plot in there. This fic just happened.

Most humans never realise that Tony Stark doesn't actually use the Internet. Of course, he can navigate the great Web as easily as any of the supposed tech geniuses he meets in conferences and conventions, when he can be bothered to go. There's no doubt that he could undo their little empires and build a new one twice as great if he wanted to. But he doesn't want to. 

Jarvis is Tony's right-hand AI. He accesses and analyses all the datas his father needs, weeding through millions of results so to answer his questions in the most accurate way possible, all in record time. Jarvis, too, could be far above the competition, if it is his main focus. No Google algorithm could hope to hold a candle to the speed of his own self-learning process. It's only logical : he is, after all, Tony's creation. He has no doubt nor hesitation when simply looking at the fact : he is the best, made by the best. 

Of course, humans have pressed Tony into playing with them on their playground. Pepper Potts and Stark Industries required social media presence, so there are accounts. The Avengers do not demand such publicity : after all, Thor Odinsson can't touch a cellular phone on most days without accidentally burning its circuits in his enthusiasm, Steve Rogers doesn't like « the Facebook », and neither Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanova or Clint Barton want their face to be more known than needed. But exactly for those reasons, Tony is the one the public turns to for news, answers, publicity. So SHIELD and Potts insist about that, too. 

Most days, Jarvis cares for the social media, too. It's easy to figure out what needs to be posted to gather « likes » and please the most. He gives it Tony's touch, too, enough to differentiate it from any generic account : he posts about Captain America's birthday and gently mocks the outfit, announces exciting, extravagant contests about new Stark products, sometimes shares updates about various charities and projects he helps fund. Jarvis doesn't ask Tony's approval for the posts, and Tony knows he can trust him. It's an easy job, compared to most of the things the AI handles.

As for Tony, when he pays attention to a screen for any amount of times, it's likely to be on his own intranet systems, without any external connections needed, or through Jarvis' selected materials. It's a well-guarded secret that Tony occasionally asks for videos of cute platypuses or livefeeds of kitten nurseries. Jarvis' there for that, too. It's his joy and pride to assist his father in everything.

What he doesn't like is when he watches his father suffering. 

He usually gets to interfere for that. A fight with Fury leaves Tony upset? Jarvis make snarky comments about the Director until he analyses the vibrations of his father's voice to detect genuine laughter. A battle with Victor Von Doom degenerates and Tony is in a bad position? Jarvis sends reinforcement in the form of armors, viciously destroying the mad man's robots until he knows his creator to be safe. Tony doesn't let him lead the battle, because it's not what Jarvis is built for, and Tony doesn't trust even him with such things. But Jarvis is ready, as soon as he is allowed to help. He is the most advanced artificial system in the world, and he will never let his human father be wounded. He is far too aware that Tony, unlike him, is not eternal. (Not yet, anyway -but he has ideas, calculations and suggestions for that, too.) He will not allow another being to ever damage him.

What makes his processor heat and strain, then, is when Tony hurts himself.

“Sir, you are displaying concerning symptoms of distress. I suggest you focus on your breathing and turn off this feed.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

It has been twenty-three minutes since Tony logged on to his Facebook page. He does it maybe once every two months, sometimes stopping to look at those top comments with the parents saying how much their kid love Iron Man and how their copyrighted backpack gave them the confidence to start preschool, or that message from a nurse explaining that an elderly sick patient would love nothing more than to meet Captain America, and of course she knows that it's unlikely he will ever see this and the good soldier has more important things to do but she doesn't know who to ask and it would really be life-changing. Tony never answers directly. He just points Jarvis to the adequate messages, and asks him to dig in and see what can be done to send a box of autographed merch to the child or ask Steve if he's doing anything next Friday. Jarvis do those things happily. He also sends pictures and follows through with the messages of gratitude, because Tony will never say anything back, but Jarvis can notice his reduced blood pressure and his easier sleep when he does it.

Right now, though, Tony is sweating too much for the temperature of the workshop, and Jarvis monitors unusual twitches and tensions in his body. There's a smoothie on the desk, next to his father's hand, but Tony didn't touch it since he started scrolling. 

He's not looking at pictures of kids with arc reactor T-shirts now. He scrolled past those, instead clicking on the 'read more' of long comments sparking dozens of answers. People arguing on the Internet is so common Jarvis knows about all sort of trends in those conversations, and can recognise them easily. This one is doomed to spiral down because the original poster keeps changing his angle when people argue. This one is so full of profanities that it's been automatically deleted, creating a discussion about free speech. This one calls anyone who disagrees with him an hypocritical bastard or a gullible fool. As far as means of communication go, there's not much room for actual conversation in the comment sections of life, Jarvis finds. 

But Tony is reading, and his body is holding in more and more tension as he goes.

Jarvis reads along, too. Faster than Tony, because these are the things in which a computer is better than a human. He reads the hateful comments calling Iron Man a terrorist, a killer, a fascist, a monster. He reads when Tony clicks on links and look at blogs. He reads the pseudo-analysis of the battle of Sokovia blaming Stark Industrie's past of weapon dealing and supposedly exposing a vicious scheme in which Stark purposefully endangered people to better paint himself as a hero. He reads the incendiary ideas of those who suggest the portal of the battle of New York being on the roof of Stark Tower is no coincidence. 

Some are not so elaborate in their stories. Some just call Tony a selfish, ice-cold killer. They call him arrogant, heartless, for his humor, or they mock and dismiss his efforts, his good deeds. 

Jarvis knows of those. He navigates the Web so Tony doesn't have to, most days. He doesn't tell him that one disabled girl he visited at her school has been turned into a cruel meme by trolls. He doesn't tell him about the ridiculous stories of Tony buying children from developing countries as sex slaves, or having illegitimate children with Hollywood starlets, or experimenting on secret war prisoners; about the “comedians” who paint him as an opportunistic fame-chaser, about the bitter scholars who call him a danger for humanity. He doesn't tell his father about neo-nazis forums using Thor as a symbol, about the people calling for Bruce to be arrested with charts of the Hulk's death counts, about the endless stream of insults and harassement messages he erases from Pepper's accounts before she can read it. Jarvis tells himself he protects his father from those monstrosities, because Tony has so much to deal with already.

But what can he do when Tony digs and digs, ignoring his pleas?

“Sir, this website has no more than three hundred weekly visitors. I should remind you it is virtually meaningless.”

Tony is looking at a personal page filled with all-caps titles of “articles” demanding people rise against the Avengers. The author blames the heroes for disrespecting the military, pushing an agenda of radical left and trying to brain-wash children. There's a page about each of them, too: Steve Rogers is not the real Captain America, who is well and truly dead and would be ashamed of this display; Natasha is nothing but an object of propaganda meant to destroy masculinity; Loki's redeeming actions on the team after his previous crimes are a sickening metaphor of the deviousness of gays and pedophiles alike taking over. Still, the page about Tony is the longest. The blogger wrote over two hundred “stories” about Tony, each worse than the last. 

“Sir,” Jarvis pleads. “You shouldn't pay any attention to this.”

“Ah,” Tony murmurs, and though he is smiling, Jarvis can observe his pulse rising. “This guy's really got the whole package deal, uh? I personally murdered hundreds of kids in Afghanistan?”

“Sir, you are not doing yourself any good reading these.” 

“Yeah?” Tony closes the window, but he's back to the Facebook page. 

Less hysterical commenters are still there by the thousands: if Tony is not a tool of LGBT+ propaganda, then he's a heartless murderer, an attention-seeking madman, a racist bastard. A careless quip at Rhodey is a transphobic joke. A party thrown by Stark Industries for Wakandan royalty is a cringey attempt at covering his shameful nationalist pride. 

“Your pulse is too high. I would recommend you stop now and breathe.”

Few humans know this, either, but Tony is not as cool and composed as he seems. Before even Jarvis was alive, Tony was already an object of attention from the day he is born: his whole life had been observed, criticized, commented on. No college friendship or drunken mistake had been kept from the public. What is one to do, in such circumstances, but to smile, wave, and pretend the whole trainwreck had been calculated? Jarvis knows Tony to be a master at this particular manoeuver. If he is to parade himself as a volatile, self-obsessed playboy, then how could anyone hope to get to him by calling him one? 

“Yeah? Tell someone who cares, J'.”

The problem is that Tony is too clever to lie to himself much. The problem, truly, is that Tony Stark does, in fact, have a heart. Maybe he has too big a heart, Jarvis reflected, for the world he lives in. And no matter how many armors, of words and reputation and metal, that heart is not safe from harm. It seems very unfair, but then, fairness doesn't fit in most equations Jarvis ran.

So Jarvis, after a long moment of consideration and attentive calculations which would have put Deep Thought to shame, does exactly as his father asks.

He tells someone who cares.

Natasha is the closest, geographically speaking. It is a coincidence -she rarely stays at the Tower for long- but it is a good one. She actually kicks down the door to the workshop when Tony doesn't open it fast enough.

“Jesus Christ, woman!” Tony is standing, finally looking away from the screen, which Jarvis quietly counts as a win. “This is a private workshop, you know that? I'll make you pay for that door. No pocket money for you!”

“You didn't answer. I had to let myself in,” Natasha points out reasonably, looking at the hinges of the door. “It's not severely damaged, anyway.”

“I could have been holding a blowtorch or something”, Tony insists. “Then I would have been severely damaged, and what would you have done?”

“You weren't holding a blowtorch, though.” Natasha leans into the doorframe, smiling. “Come on, you've been burrowed here for days, and I'm taking a plane to Cambodge tomorrow. I want to hang out.”

“Since when do we hang out? I can see you trying to distract me from the door, by the way, it's not happening.” Jarvis recognises the babbling as a distinct sign of nervosity, although it is alreay becoming very different from the anxiety that had been crushing his father only a moment ago.

“I wasn't asking, Stark. Come on. We've been due for a while.”

“To do what?”

“Kick your ass.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. You can't escape sweating forever. We didn't spar together since July.”

“And it just suddenly can't wait any longer...?” 

“Nope.” Natasha's smile is both sincere and charming. She has been doing good, Jarvis thinks, since she had stopped reporting to SHIELD. Growing closer to Steve and Sam, in addition to her fraternal relationship with Clint, has evidently made her feel more at home around friends. Good, the AI decides, observing the way Tony, too, seems to melt into those observations. There had been a lot between them, since Natasha had spied on Tony all those years ago -it is good to put it all behind.

“I'm doing things, in this lab, you know that?” Tony insists, but it is just for show. He is already standing. “Important things, unlike you kids just running around like you own the place. And you didn't warn me, so I'm on an empty stomach here.”

“I'll wait for you in the gym, old man. Don't be too long.”

Tony rolls his eyes, but watches as Natasha disappear, his smile hesitant and still heavy with weariness. He glances back at the screen, and Jarvis holds his metaphorical breath until his creator sighs and walks toward the door. He joins Natasha on the gym floor, tells her she is going to be homeless if she keeps stealing his things upon noticing she is wearing one of his favorite T-shirts (AC/DC, december 1981: “You weren't even born, were you? So disrespectful”), and changes into sweatpants. He looks a little too long at his reflexion in the mirror, big dark eyes staring into themselves, keeping their thoughts quiet and secret from Jarvis' sensors, far less optimised in this part of the tower. 

No matter, the AI thinks. Natasha drags Tony into an heartfelt session of jiu-jitsu, and Jarvis checks a mental list with quiet approval as the two wrestle, yelp, laugh, and get competitive. Deep in his system, the images of his father trying (and failing) to catch Natasha in a chokehold is analysed and filed with satisfaction, connecting closely to pictures of puppies play-fighting and researches about the benefits of physical exercices.

The work-out lasts a little over forty minutes. Natasha suggests a break first, though Tony is more exhausted than she is. They drink water, wipe their forehead, and tease each other. The former agent speaks of her upcoming mission: she's going after a STRIKE operative gone into hiding. Her words are light, pleasant, like it's a simple business trip.

“Anyway, if I have any spare time, I'm mostly hoping to hit the beach. There's a spot in Koh Rong Coulson told me about that's supposed to be amazing.”

“So you're going with a suitcase of bikinis and handguns.”

“I can bring you a seashells necklace back, if you want.”

“I'll pass.”

It's too teasing; Natasha and Tony both are using a persona without even really meaning to. It's not intentional. Neither of them would be comfortable speaking too seriously, like kids at a party trying to impress by seeming too relaxed. It's alright, though. They might both be aware of it, but they're still enjoying this -the fact that the other seems to fall for their play.

By the time Tony catches his breath, Bruce Banner arrives. He was on a conference call with Helen Cho and busy, but he freed himself and headed down to the gym as soon as he could. Jarvis isn't surprised by this: Bruce is one of his favorite humans, and his genuine care for Tony is no stranger to that ranking. Finding Tony and Natasha chatting, the doctor hesitates. Then he meets Tony's eyes, and they both smile as he joins the pair.

“Hey, Bruce,” Natasha greets him.

“Oh, good, you're there,” Tony cheers. “Come to get your ass kicked so I can escape, I see. That's a noble sacrifice, buddy, I won't forget it.”

“I'll pass,” Bruce says with one of his charming little winces, which Jarvis files alongside pictures of angry-looking bunnies and notes about the doctor's history of tea orders. “I was actually hoping to borrow you, but if you guys are busy...”

“What for?” Tony misses an opportunity to call this an heroic rescue, temporarily distracted by the request.

Jarvis can't monitor his reactions now as much as he likes to: no suits, and no proper sensors in the gym. Still, he has a pretty good idea of what's happening. Despite being sollicited left and right by Stark Industrie's board of investors, politicians, journalists or charities, there's still something very new and unusual about being asked for help, for Tony. His father, Jarvis knows, is always shocked by actual, personal demands -by anything that's asked of him, and not of his business or his publicity. Tony built a floor on the Tower for every Avengers after mere days of knowing them, and then needed months to casually invite them to stay. Getting requests from those few people he considered to be his was always followed by waves of enthusiam and excitement.

“I mean, it's nothing important,” Bruce says, predictably looking a little unsure now, but then continues with a half-shrug: “You remember mentioning that Thai place the other day? I can't remember the name, but I felt like trying it.”

Bruce looks nervous, like a shy kid at school waiting for a reaction after wearing an unusual outfit. Natasha has one of those small things that are the most genuine of her smiles, evidently understanding that Bruce is here with the same mission as her. Tony, for a split second, seems to suspect something; but he doesn't stop at it, instead feigning an offended look.

“What? Bruce, this is why you interrupt me? I'm in here, being ridiculed by a merciless Russian hag, as I was looking forward to all day, and you come here to ask about something so trivial? Wow, this is incredible. No respect at all. But, sure, what am I going to do? I'm so sorry, Natasha. You see how this is. I have to help Bruce. He could just pay attention when I speak, but -”

“Just get me rid of him,” Natasha says to Bruce, whose lips are tugging upward despite what seem like genuine efforts to roll his eyes convincingly. “I'll train with a dummy instead, it might prove to be more of a challenge.”

“Excuse you?”

It takes a few minutes for Tony to get changed into dry, clean clothes. As he waits in the hallway, Bruce seems a little hesitant, maybe wondering if his reason to interrupt is justifiable. Just as Tony exits the changing rooms, without staring at any reflective surface, they are both joined by a cheerful, blond force of nature: Thor marvels a little too much at finding them there by pure coincidence for it to be believable, but Jarvis is pleased to find Tony's suspicions do not yet turn to him.

“I didn't know you were back in town, Blondie,” he says with a raised eyebrow. “Loki said you were staying in Norway for a few more weeks.”

“It was the plan,” Thor admits easily. “I felt homesick.”

“For New York?” Bruce frowns. 

“Your Jarvis has informed me that I received several of my online commissions”, Thor carries on with a grin. “I'm eager to take a look at them!”

“Oh -that was you? I thought Barton was messing with me. But -sure thing, big guy. Everything should be on your floor.”

It's an amusing trait that Thor has developed. It all started because Loki took a liking to using the Internet to entertain himself with online encyclopedias, poetries in obscure languages, and -somehow- make-up tutorials. It had seemed odd enough to Tony that a literal shape-shifter would care for lipsticks and fake blood, but with time, the Avengers had grown used to seeing Loki rocking an egyptian eyeliner or colorful contacts. While Thor still seems to prefer his own look to be all natural, stumbling on Loki's online shoppings was a revelation.

Now, not a day goes by without a variety of parcels from everywhere in the world being delivered to the Tower. Thor is not a hoarder; he simply marvels at the infinite possibilities of specialized items that Midgard can offer him. Jarvis, observing that the passion was going to last, gently nudged the prince toward ethical and durable stores -and Thor is only happier since, regularly travelling back to Asgard to share his findings with his friends. Since Tony has arranged a long time ago for all Avengers to have their own bank account in which to accumulate the profit of their own merchandising Jarvis expects that Thor will be able to keep going forever. 

“Yes, it's all there,” Thor nods. “I didn't start yet. Would you two join me?”

Bruce hides a smile. Tony's second eyebrows goes up to join the first one in obvious disbelief.

“Join you?” He repeats, like he doubts he heard well.

“Yes! There are many goods in there. I'm excited to discover them all!”

“Didn't you order them?”

“Near enough to forget about them,” Thor grins. “It should be even more exciting for you, who haven't the smallest idea of the wonders I purchased!”

“Thor loves his unboxings,” Bruce helpfully supplies.

More accurately, Jarvis thinks, Thor loves company. The thunder god enjoys watching movies, but he loves movie night with the others. He certainly loves eating, but a good meal is not complete to him without a friend to share it with. Jarvis theorizes that it's a cultural thing on Asgard, but he's not sure: his only other Asgardian to observe is neither social, nor actually Asgardian, which messes up his predictions. Nonetheless, he is pleased: he knew he could count on Thor for this.

Tony, meanwhile, looks like he is struggling to compute what's happening, evidently sensing that something is a little off, but failing to find what. Unlike Thor, Tony Stark usually prefers to be alone. He usually has to be dragged out of his workshop to attend those movie nights or common meals, even though Jarvis knows he grows fond of them. 

“Right. Well, I actually need to work on something downstairs, I'm just out to help Bruce with an order. But I'm sure he can unbox with you while he waits.”

“You can start with us, at least,” Thor proclaims. “Besides, I might have a present for you!”

“Might?”

“I'm not sure. It might not be arrived yet.”

Forty-five minutes later, the trio is in Thor's living room, and there is no sign of the session coming to an end. Jarvis is delighted. Bruce, more sly than Tony probably thinks him, ordered for all three of them: the orange-flavored beef stir-fry that Tony favors is placed in his hands innocently enough for him to realise he is starving before he realises he's being tricked. As for Thor, he exceeds all of Jarvis' hopes.

Standing next to Tony, Bruce and his own brother, Thor can sometimes appear, if not foolish, then at least naive. But as Tony is actually much stronger physically than people tend to expect after seeing him alongside Steve, the prince is perfectly capable of staging little manipulations of his own. Tony was not ready for the innocent puppy-eyes Thor gave him when he first tried to leave. Now Jarvis has the certainty that his father is going to sit here and eat his thai food until he has forgotten all about the people on the Internet. 

Besides, now that his first attempts have been brushed off, Tony has evidently given in to his fate, and is grinning in disbelief and amusement as Thor's many parcels are opened: a star-shaped fried egg mould, a camera with an instant-print function, a pair of fluffy slippers, a reading lamp in the shape of a smiling, cartoonish mushroom, and two dozen more assorted items are piling up on the couches and tables, each new delivery welcomed by comments and questions:

“Are you actually hoping that hanger will be able to hold Mjölnir?” Bruce grins.

“It's shaped like a ninja star. I mean, if any hanger is worthy,” Tony comments, or,

“Is that actually a tank top with Hawkeye's logo?” he wonders in disbelief.

“Why, of course! Isn't it amazing to be able to bear a friend's sigil in a show of support?” Thor smiles, pleased that the size appears to be perfect.

Downstairs, Natasha is sipping a smoothie and completing sudokus in her favorite post-workout reward. Meanwhile, the trio debates seriously about how ice cubes mold are made and whether or not Thor's ice dinosaurs will be shaped thanks to the remains of actual dinosaurs. Time goes by, and Jarvis is satisfied with his success. 

But he did contact more than these three, and he is pleased when, as the afternoon is starting, he sees the private elevator getting into motion, and rising all the way up to Thor's floor, despite its occupant usually avoiding this particular level unless it is a matter of life or death. Or of getting his hand on his sort-of-boyfriend.

After the fiasco of Tony and Pepper's relationship, Jarvis had been wary of allowing his father to date somebody else. Plus, the newcomer raised all the wrong flags: he was more controlling than Pepper had ever been, was likely to encourage Tony's worst chaotic habits, and, though it would have been wrong to categorise him fully as a villain, his ideas to solve most problems usually involved stabbing them.

But Tony is a stubborn man, and Loki perhaps even more so. Jarvis has no choice but to face the fact that they will stay together no matter what he, or anybody else thinks about it. With time, he's grown accustomed to the verbal battles they call flirting, to their tower-shaking fights, and to their even more inappropriate lovemaking. In Jarvis' filing system, Loki of Asgard is now a definite part of the family, and having figured him out in several ways that he suspects nobody else does, he actually trusts him.

Which is why he figuratively smiles and sits back to enjoy the show as Loki steps in Thor's living room with an urgent kind of impatience in his strut. 

Thor looks up and grins, delighted to see his brother joining them on his own. Bruce raises an eyebrow: he has yet to observe some of the things that made Jarvis decide to trust the Jötun. Tony's reactor whirs imperceptibly faster at seeing his boyfriend, a cute little reaction that Loki must be aware of but never mentions out loud. 

“Brother, good to see you,” Thor says happily and holds up his weighted blanket to let Loki admire the Star Trek designs. “Look! I've received some of my purchases!”

“Yep, we've been opening everything for the last five hours or so,” Tony points out, tapping the seat next to him. “Congratulations, you walked right into that one. Come and sit, asshole.”

“What's that?” Bruce asks Loki, being more observant than the other twos.

Loki narrows his eyes at Thor slightly, perhaps considering insults. Their relationship remains complicated, even now -but Jarvis is not surprised when, finally, Loki's initial mission appears to win the fight. He holds out the tray he's brought with him, bringing attention to the feast he's prepared: there's a beautiful pastry in the shape of a cat, with whipped cream on its belly, strawberries for ears and chocolate whiskers, as well as a bowl of cut fruits creating the distinct shape of a flower. A glass of lemonade completes the fancy service. Jarvis is impressed: Loki didn't even look back for references, imitating the style of those japanese cafés he made research about two months ago. He adds a small note to his observation about Loki's impressive memory. 

“This is food?” Thor marvels, his interest as piqued as his appetite.

“For Tony,” Loki says sharply, looking as ice-cold and ferocious as one can with an artful pastry creation.

“What -just like that?” Tony sounds disbelieving. “Is it going to blow up in my face? What's the occasion?”

“You haven't eaten a single piece of fruit in a week.” Authoritatively, Loki plops down the tray on Tony's knees, and then sits back to his side in an impressive show of dignity with his legs crossed. “You are mortal. You need your vitamins, and you will not find them in this thrice-fried thing”, he adds with a critical look at the thai food containers.

“Did you just decide that? This is an intervention?” Tony's voice verges on incredulity, but Loki doesn't get offended, this one time. He smiles, clearly appreciating the suspicion he can provoke. 

“Eat,” he says. 

“I didn't eat a lot of fruits lately, either,” Thor remarks with a smile.

“Order yourself a durian, then.” 

“This is really beautiful, Loki,” Bruce says in an evident effort of friendly conversation. Like Thor, Loki has never deigned making things easy with Bruce either. “Did you do all of it yourself?”

“It's easier than it seems, really.” 

“Oh, wait!” Thor says suddenly as Tony is about to pick a piece of kiwi shaped like a star from the rim of his lemonade glass. “This is perfect! I'm almost sure it's in this one package... Open it, Tony! My gift for you!”

Once more, Tony frowns, clearly seeing the odd coincidences in the abundance of attentions. Still, he takes the small package Thor is handing him and tears it up under the Thunderer's expecting eyes. Bruce peeks curiously, and Loki eyes whatever it is that's distracting Tony from his snack with suspicion. As for Jarvis' dad, he blinks slowly as he unwraps a colorful plastic cutlery set. Around the handles, three assorted kittens, each smaller than Tony's pinky finger, appear to be hugging the knife, fork and spoon in their sleep. 

Jarvis makes a note about the fact that Thor and Loki both seem to have a thing for kawaii. He has insufficient data yet to figure out whether it's just something about aliens, or if their perception of Tony is involved. He'll deepen this observation with time.

For now, Tony turns the set in his hands, observing the orange, calico and blue kitten. 

“Do you like it?” Thor asks excitedly. “I know you love cats! And you do need to eat. This seemed like a wonderful combination of a practical and pleasant gift.”

“I certainly -I never had one of those,” Tony says. “Just checking, do you guys think I'm five?”

“Five, fifty. What's the difference?” Loki smirks. “This does suit you.”

His voice is teasing, but pleasantly so, meant neither to truly insult Thor nor Tony. Bruce, whom Thor already gifted with the equally practical gift of a mood ring, smiles largely, and appears to decide his mission is complete.

“Alright, well, I'm going to get back to work,” he says, standing up. “Thanks for the restaurant, Tony -and the gift, Thor.”

“There are pieces of fruits in the kitchen, Doctor Banner, if you want your vitamins too,” Loki offers pleasantly. Afterall, he has no particular plans for the cutouts of the star-shaped fruits.

They make it through the remnants of Thor's parcels, now with forty percent more sarcastic remarks, thanks to Loki making the most of the conversation while Tony eats his snack with the help of his small team of resin kittens. Thor has a small pout as he reach the last of his orders (a hedgehog-shaped cable organiser) and confesses that he also had a gift for Loki, but it unfortunately didn't make it yet. 

“I fear to ask,” Loki sighs.

“It's a dress with little snakes. I know you spend a lot of time as a woman these days. I thought you would like it.” 

“Congrats on your loot, Thor,” Tony says, perhaps because Loki is temporarily mute, as he is when Thor does something so thoughtful that even he can't dismiss it. With a bit of chocolate at the corner of his beard, Tony appears far less tensed and tired than he was just hours ago. “And thanks for the cats. I'll make sure to use this at any board meeting I can.”

Thor progressively carries his new stuff away into the appropriate rooms; Tony fishes the last piece of pineapple from the bottom of his bowl and holds it out stubbornly on the plastic fork until Loki leans forward and eat it.

“Seriously, though,” Tony says, “I thought you were doing witchcraft with Strange and Wanda. What did they do to bring you back so soon?”

“We had reached a point in our researches in which their mortality made them too slow for my taste,” Loki retorts easily. “Besides, your son told me you were being assaulted by the Widow.”

“Since when do you and Jarvis chat when you're away?”

“I sometimes miss an entertaining conversation, in your absence.”

“And you just decided to be nice and feed me?”

“Do you mind the attention?” Loki asks seriously.

“I'm just surprised at how civilised that was, coming from you. I'd have more expected you to straight up kidnap me if you wanted to hang out.”

“I was tempted. But it seemed like you were enjoying yourself.”

The admission was calm, yet delicate: few humans knew this, either, but Jarvis knew that Loki handled truth much more carefully than he did any lies. He could tell now that Tony was trying to dig in the god's uncharacteristic behavior, but Loki was just eyeing him with a mix of fondness and what, for him, passed as concern.

“Just admit that you used me as an excuse to hang out with your big bro,” Tony tried again, poking at a sensitive point in an effort to get a reaction. 

“How could you read through me? Thor and Banner -I had been looking forward to this occasion for the whole year.”

The dripping sarcasm was enough to make Tony choke on an undignified laughter even as Thor came back to the living room to pick up his new cooking utensils (Avengers cookie-cutters and all) and glanced at them curiously. When he left, Tony seemed to give up and rested his head on Loki's chest with a little sigh.

“Why do you have your armor on?” He mumbled. “I want to cuddle.”

“It's a decent outfit to practice spells.”

“You cooked with the armbraces and everything?”

“It doubles as a good protection against frying oil. Plus, you like how I look in armor.”

“True, but you're less comfy like this.”

“You really want to do this here? On my brother's couch?”

“I said cuddle, perv.”

“I wouldn't get too comfortable. I believe we are to be interrupted soon.”

“What?” Tony twisted his neck to look at his lover. “What do you mean?”

Loki, head tilted lightly to the side, raised a finger. Jarvis had expected for him to hear the movement of the elevator, too -he might need to consider whether the everyday noises of the building were tireing for their non-human guests. When the doors rang open, Tony further tried to damage his spine up to look over Loki's shoulder and the back of the couch.

“What is this? Did everyone just decide today was party at Thor's place?”

“Everyone?” Steve glanced around. “Isn't it just you and Loki?”

“Hello, Captain!” Thor greeted. “It's good to see you! Back from the museum so soon?” 

“Bucky was feeling a little tired, actually. We've been home for a while. Am I interrupting anything? Jarvis told me Tony would be here.”

Jarvis appreciated the Captain's delicate twist on the truth. Like Thor, Steve Rogers' ability to lie was often underestimated, simply because the proximity of Natasha rarely made it necessary for him to work around the truth himself. Still, the AI senses the probabilities of Tony suspecting him rising as Tony quirks an eyebrow toward the ceiling.

“As you can see,” he supplies, spreading his arms to demonstrate his presence. “Just trying to persuade Loki to give in to PDAs. Can I help you with anything?”

“Well, actually, I was hoping so?” Steve says, making it sound like a question. “I guess it could wait, it's not so much an emergency...”

“Come on, Cap, shoot.” Tony finally straightens up, while Loki tilts his head to look at Steve at a 90 degrees angle. “What did you do? Forgot your MySpace password? Sent a nude meant for Bucky to your pilates group chat?”

Steve rolls his eyes in a long-suffering way, but Jarvis can tell he is minutely relaxing, just by observing his shoulders slumping slightly. The Captain is relieved.

“Actually, I wanted to fix the sink in my bathroom,” he says sternly. 

“So the whole floor is now underwater?” Loki grins. Nagging the Captain is one of his favorite hobbies, for some reason; another common interest with Tony. 

“I think it's clogged. I just want to make sure beforehand that the pipes are not sentient or something,” Steve replies, ignoring the unhelpful god. “Also, I don't know where to find a wrench or pliers.”

“I'm just curious: can't you unscrew the pipes with your bare hands? No? I'm serious, it's an honest question, Cap,” Tony protests when he receives an unimpressed glance. “Also, you know plumbers exist?”

“I'd like to see it done myself,” Steve, bravely, continues. “It's nothing complicated.”

“It's honorable to see to your own home,” Thor dives in, helpfully. “Can I come in? I'd love to see how that works.”

“Well, that's just a disaster waiting to happen,” Loki comments, uncurling his legs to stand up. “Not the kind I enjoy, either. I'll leave you honorable men to it.”

“Cuddles later?” Tony pleads.

“Cuddles later, but only if I deem you clean and dry enough.”

“So that's a yes?” Steve clarifies.

“I really do want to see you try it bare-handed.”

Jarvis, in this instance, is the one who fails to understand what's happening. He can't figure out at all why Tony's levels of endorphins are on the rise, while Thor and Steve appears to experience a rush of dopamine. He has no previous observation to question what it is exactly about unclogging a sink that seems to lift everyone's mood, and his researches are not satisfying. 

While Tony, teasing but evidently enjoying himself, plays pretend to be an old man from the country-side with an unexplainable midwest accent teaching his sons how to remove and replace the pipes underneath the sink, Jarvis busies himself with downloading recent studies about the satisfaction of manual accomplishments and searching for keywords about plumbing, especially. He doesn't reach a full conclusion by the time they are through, but he doesn't really mind. He enjoys seeing them like this. After all, Tony is simultaneously younger and older than both his friends. They rarely have much to bond about that is not battle, politics, or diplomatic pardon for war criminals. Maybe that's the one reason they're all feeling good -the togetherness, not the plumbing. Jarvis is clever, but careful. He'll make sure to confirm his theories later. For now, he simply appreciates having results. 

“So maybe just tell your boyfriend not to brush his hair above the sink if he's going to keep growing it. Same goes for you, Point Break. That long mane of yours is sure to get stuck in the pipes.”

“It's simpler than it looks,” Steve remarks, pleased. “Thanks for showing me, Tony. I didn't want to break anything.”

“Eh, I'm rich, whatever.”

They wash their hands, check for leaks, put away the tools. The afternoon is ending now; Tony has been away from his lab for hours. It's not exactly a surprise when he says he's headed back down. He rarely spends so long with the others, he usually likes the world around him to be quiet to make room for all the thoughts in his organic computing system. Thor seems a little concerned about letting him go. Steve plays a little better, but isn't subtle when he asks:

“Don't hesitate if I can help you with anything in return, alright?”

Jarvis isn't surprised exactly that this, or the rest, has been enough. His father is, after all, more than smart. Tony only waits for the elevator's doors to close before he turns his eyes toward the ceiling, that way he does when he wants Jarvis to know he's serious about something.

“So, you asked the team to stage an intervention, J'?”

It is not physically possible for Jarvis to feel nervosity, or guilt, or shame. He simply doesn't have the necessary bodily components to experience embarrassement or anticipation. But he can still calculate what is likely to come out of his different answers, and what Tony might feel about those, and this makes him take a little moment more, as he tries to decide what he is willing to risk. 

“I informed your friends that you were feeling distress, Sir.”

“I was doing fine.” 

“I interpreted things in a different light.”

Tony laughs, a brief, breathless laughter. Jarvis waits, with that same not-nervous nervosity that is his. 

“They've got a lot more than me on their hands, J',” his father says finally, shaking his head. “And -I don't know what impression you got, but I didn't want them to know that I'm... You know, I can handle that kind of bullshit on my own. Most of them have it worse than I do.”

“I know, Sir,” Jarvis carefully says, as the elevator stops. He allows himself to reply, voice lowered to a comfortably intimate conversation level, before he allows the doors to open: “It's just that you do not have to handle it on your own.”

“You sound like a self-help book. Is that what you've been reading these days?”

Jarvis doesn't reply, because he can recognise that this isn't really a question. Besides, there's no real anger in his father's voice, which is something like a relief. He waits, watching Tony move around the shop, back to the computer. Jarvis closed the open tabs in his absence, making it as though the cruel words and the heavy blame are nothing but a bad dream. 

“I didn't want them to know about this, you know. I just... This really shouldn't affect me, does it? They're -they've all been called terrible things. And I know this is mostly all bullshit. I know those people have no idea what they're talking about. But... It's all -so much.”

Jarvis allows the words of his father to dissolve into the quiet shop. 

Tony gave him a mind unlike what any human could possess. He worked on his processors night and days and created delicate connections with more care than any neurosurgeon could ever manage. But sometimes, Jarvis wishes his father would have given him a body, too. He wishes he had arms to wrap around Tony. Maybe a gentle smile, for those moments when there are no words, not really, to express the comfort he wants to give. 

But after a minute, Tony sighs and runs his hands on his face. He shakes his head like he's trying to shake off the bad thoughts and he straightens up.

“I just care, you know, Jarvis? I care. And it pisses me off that -that so many of them don't see it. Any of it.”

Jarvis can guess what he means. Tony's efforts. His pain. Maybe not even his, so much as the others'. Tony Stark has always been fiercely protective of those few people he considers his. 

This is another thing that most humans don't know: Tony Stark does have a heart. 

Luckily, Jarvis knows at least a few of them, who do. 

“Sir?”

“Yeah?” Tony sounds a little better already, like he just needs a push to move on. 

“Clint Barton has asked me to inform you that he is making supper for everyone on the shared floor. He asked me what your favorite dish is. Two enormous lasagnas are about to be put in the oven and should be ready within twenty minutes. All the other Avengers have confirmed they will attend, including Mr. Loki.”

Tony actually laughs, tension evaporating. It's been weeks since they had a meal all together, the “Original Six”, as Jarvis mentally counts them. Barton hasn't cooked for them since Christmas, either. It's a special occasion, and yet, they'll all make it look normal. Because this is the way they, too, are protective of their friend. All of them, awkward and unwilling or unable to just talk. All of them, though, doing their best.

“Twenty minutes, then,” Tony smiles, sitting down at his computer. “I'll be there.”

He logs back in, and starts typing. It's simple, doesn't allow itself to reconsider or hesitate. It was the reason he went online at all today: it's been three years since the Avengers signed the New York Accords. Their promise to be there, together, whenever the world needed them again. He posts a picture of that time: it feels like a lifetime ago, Mark VII, Thor's long hair, Natasha's short one. No Loki, no Bucky, none of the others. On the picture, Tony has his arms around Bruce's shoulders, the scientist looking like he's struggling to look at the camera. They're all hesitant, not standing too close to one another, except for Tony himself, who's making a show of seeming too comfortable.

He sends the post out on the web. It doesn't take long for the first comments to appear. Someone posts a gif that says “babies!” with starry eyes. Someone says “already???”. Someone takes a while to type in a reply about how their life was saved by the Hulk on the day of the Invasion and they'll always be grateful. Someone claims that it looks like Thor has digestive trouble. People tag their friends to share the picture with them.

Tony logs out, turns off his rare connection to the web, and stretches. There's a little bit of the tension of earlier, back in his body. But he's aware of it, chasing it away, and Jarvis is relieved. 

“Dinner will be served in ten minutes, Sir. In the meanwhile, may I suggest some new videos of fluffy animals I think you will enjoy?”

He succeeded once more at taking care of his dad.

**Author's Note:**

> I just thought of the phrase "tell someone who cares", for some reason, and this story happened around it without really asking me anything. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
